


Ikizukuri

by Megan



Category: Kamen Rider Amazons (2016)
Genre: Cannibalism, Episode Tag, M/M, Rated For Violence, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/Megan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I don't want to eat anyone ever again</i> seems unrealistic, even childish, now that they're on the run for their lives. Surveillance teams, helicopters, and constant attacks from Jin Takayama have already made the decision for them, so it's easy enough for Haruka to say what has to come next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ikizukuri

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



> This is 100% M-rated for violence/depiction of eating someone alive. There's no sex.
> 
> Set during episode 13-- given the power-up that they seem to have gotten and the declaration that they're going to find a way to live without eating people (not that they're doing it already) you'll never convince me that at least one of the missing surveillance team members didn't become dinner for the beachfront cannibal hippie commune.

Everyone stares at the dying man.

 _Everyone_. Even the two people who'd brought him down, the two with more blood than before splashed across their clothes and white-lipped terror on their faces, the two who'd had to decide whether to kill or be killed.

 _I don't want to eat anyone ever again_ seems unrealistic, even childish, now that they're on the run for their lives. Surveillance teams, helicopters, and constant attacks from Jin Takayama have already made the decision for them, so it's easy enough for Haruka to say what has to come next.

"It's okay." Haruka's sort of their leader, and he's not sure whether there's some kind of authority vested in his driver-- official sanction is a hell of a thing, even after all this-- or it's yet another new and terrifying Amazon thing no one's told him about.

It feels like that second thing, the comfortable rightness of being around people who smell like _people_ and not like meat.

The man on the floor, coughing up blood and scrabbling for a weapon that isn't there anymore-- he smells like meat.

"But--" Mamoru doesn't finish what Haruka knows will be another protest about how he doesn't want to eat anyone, his voice trailing off after a single syllable. Maybe he's wavering at the terrible, mouthwatering thought of food. After all, Mamoru's lucky enough to know what that tastes like. Most of the rest of them aren't.

"Self-defense isn't murder." Haruka takes a step forward. If they need him to make a decision, he's going to look at what he's doing. "He came here trying to kill us. Don't be sorry that we're the ones who survived."

Some of the others inch forward. Haruka hears someone groan and feels Mamoru tremble next to him.

This man is going to die no matter what they do. He's only here, drowning in his own blood in this makeshift camp on a freezing cold beach, because he wanted to murder them. Or to send an extermination team to murder them, which is close enough to count. 

Once Haruka thinks of it like this, the morally correct choice is clear: he's not denying these people for the dignity of an undeserving dead man. They can't find a way to live peacefully unless they survive in the meantime.

"Eat him." 

Those two words take the weight on his chest with them, but they don't seem to comfort anyone else. No one moves. No one speaks, or makes any sound at all above a soft groan.

Haruka does it for them. 

It only takes a few more steps to reach him. When Haruka kneels, he makes sure to avoid the worst of the blood; they don't have enough extra clothing to be cavalier about ruining what they do have with the reek of rotten meat. Bad enough that they're all covered in their own blood.

"We should start from the outside, keep him alive as long as possible. Otherwise he might spoil before everyone gets to eat."

That draws a reaction from their unwanted visitor. He bats a hand weakly and tries to say something, but all that comes out is a spray of blood. It spatters across Haruka's cheek, and instinct takes over before he has a chance to consciously react: he runs a finger through it so he can lap up the blood without dipping his entire face into it.

 _Oh_. 

It tastes so good that he can't describe it, not even in his own head. It thrums all through him like something's just kindled a fire in him-- he can't breathe, can't speak, can't focus on anything except how his skin tingles and his lower belly has gone hot and tight. It's everything all at once, his entire world contracted down to this. His vision's gone blurry and red, his own blood roars in his ears, and all he can smell and taste is _meat_.

When he finally composes himself enough to say something, it's not what he means to say.

"Thank you for the meal," he murmurs, his voice breathy and longing and strange to his own ears, and tears open the man's blood-soaked shirt.

Skin rends apart under his teeth, and the first taste of subcutaneous fat takes away his last vestige of reason. Everything else blurs-- he's aware of the uproar around him now that he's given them permission by taking the first bite, everyone else surging forward to get their own mouthful before it's gone, but they're wholly unimportant next to the first real meal he's ever had.

When his senses come back to him, when he's capable of doing more than ripping another bite away from bone, he feels sated for the first time he can remember. 

The others are still eating; there's more meat to a man than Haruka would have guessed. Their dinner has finally stopped twitching as they move on from the easy pickings, tearing into organs and cracking bones to suck out the marrow.

Mamoru steps back before the others do, but he's not empty-handed.

"You should eat some more, Mizusawa," he says, proffering what might be liver as easily as he shares everything else with Haruka. It glistens in his hand, and Haruka's mouth waters like he hasn't just gorged himself.

He doesn't even bother with his hands, not when the predator's instinct clawing its way up the back of his neck screams for him to lash out and bite.

His teeth graze over Mamoru's fingers, but he doesn't break the skin. Just the thought of sinking his teeth into one of his people feels so deeply, viscerally wrong that it's almost enough to put him off his appetite.

Almost.

Mamoru watches him eat with wide eyes. Something about the look on his face-- relieved, but maybe surprised that he feels that way-- stirs that same tightening warmth in him that the first taste of blood had. 

"Thank you," Haruka says, once he's licked the last traces of his meal off his fingers. Or would this count as dessert?

Mamoru is still staring at his mouth. He reaches out hesitantly with his other, cleaner hand and swipes his thumb across the corner of Haruka's lip; it comes away bloody.

"You had a thing," he says by way of vague explanation.

Then he slips his thumb into his mouth and Haruka is the one staring.

"I'm not sorry," he says when he's done. There's a trace of blood on his lower lip, and it takes conscious effort on Haruka's part not to lick it off. "I was sorry about Misaki, but I'm not sorry about this one. I thought I would be, but I'm not."

He's white-faced but still looks terribly, defiantly happy. His bony shoulder is almost slipping out of his borrowed shirt, showing the barest edge of the scar where Tlaloc had bubbled off some of his skin. There's a matching rough, scarred patch on his jaw. 

Haruka still wants to lean forward and lick his way right into Mamoru's bloody mouth.

"Good," he says instead.

Everyone else is starting to disperse, but now they aren't silent, hungry ghosts. They talk quietly and mill around in smaller groups. Someone is washing the blood off his face with seawater; two more people are dragging away what little remains of the corpse. Some others look out into the distance, probably watching for the glint of surveillance drones or listening for Jin's warning siren of a cackle.

Every armband he sees glows a soft blue.

Mamoru takes him by the hand. It's not surprising; he's always touching people. Haruka _is_ startled by how warm his skin is, how strong his grip is. He's so close that Haruka can feel him breathe. The temptation is too much-- he manages to use a finger and not his own mouth, but he still reaches out and swipes at Mamoru's lip.

The blood is sour, already starting to go off, but the look on Mamoru's face isn't.

"You had a thing," Haruka murmurs.

They really should move, find a new place to camp. Even if they've destroyed every signaling device that the surveillance team brought with them-- and Haruka knows enough about Nozama that he doesn't believe that for a second-- it's going to be obvious exactly where the signal went offline. And that's generously assuming that Jin isn't watching and doesn't know they've killed someone today, and when isn't Jin watching and waiting for a chance to strike?

He'll gather them up in a minute. For now, he can't bring himself to break up the only truly pleasant moment they've had in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally ripped the food pun story naming convention from _Hannibal_ , and I'm not at all sorry. (Rejected music-based titles from before I decided on that: _Fine Young Cannibals_ , _Welcome to the Jungle_ , and _Hungry Like the Wolf_. Basically I should never be allowed to title anything.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [catching their breath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950235) by [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah)




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